


It Is Our Choices

by Droupy48



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish-centric, Because he's my fave, Child Abuse, Harry Potter AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, TRC goes to Ilvermorny, and I wish Adam got a letter that took him away from his shitty parents, because I wish I was at a school for magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22223023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droupy48/pseuds/Droupy48
Summary: It's the kind of day that starts with raised voices and ends with chores instead of dinner. It’s a car crash in slow motion, and there’s probably nothing he can do to make it any better. But he’s going to spend the day trying to think his way out. Just like always.And then, Adam gets a letter from some fancy boarding school in Massachusetts.A magical, Harry Potter-ish AU for TRC. But they go to Ilvermorny because there's so much there that I want to explore.
Relationships: Adam Parrish & Blue Sargent, Henry Cheng & Adam Parrish, Noah Czerny & Adam Parrish, Richard Gansey III & Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch & Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 24
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

By the time the first letter shows up, Adam knows it’s going to be a rough day. The kind of day that starts with raised voices and ends with chores instead of dinner. It’s a car crash in slow motion, and there’s probably nothing he can do to make it any better. But he’s going to spend the day trying to think his way out. Just like always.

It’s the front door slamming that wakes him up. His own door shakes in its frame but his dad doesn’t come through it. Yet. His heart is racing and his ears are straining to locate the threat and he can’t breathe. His dad is stomping around the living room raging about something, but Adam can’t make it out over the pounding in his ears. He pleads with himself to breathe, to listen. His chest feels so tight. He needs to get himself together. He needs to get out of here. He needs some air. He needs to man up. He needs to find out what’s going on so he can make a plan.

He’s starting to make these sort of gasping noises, and he really needs to stop. He can’t let his dad find him acting like this. He doesn’t want attention right now. He doesn’t really want attention at any time, whatever his dad says. He presses both hands over his mouth and forces himself to breathe through his nose. He breathes out slowly and tells himself that everything is fine. That he’ll be okay if he can be quiet. His dad’s right about him being a liar.

He’s calming down. He can feel his chest start to expand and knows his lungs are working again. He can’t hear his heart beating anymore, which means he can try to understand the anger outside his door. He gathers that his dad was out working in the car port this morning, because he’s the only one who does any goddamn work around here. 

His dad can’t believe he works this hard to support his wife and her bratty son. He wants to know if Alice is planning on making breakfast at some point today. Alice wants to know what he’d like her to do, since they are out of eggs and milk and cereal and bread. His dad’s answer is quick and non-verbal. Alice says she can heat up some leftovers from dinner last night. His dad storms out to his truck because she’s wasting his time and he’s going to eat in town. And then he storms right back in. Adam’s door shakes. His dad wants to know why his truck never has any fucking gas in it. He wants to know what he did to make God give him a wife like Alice. He wants to know how she could forget to fill it up. Again. When she has no job and nothing to do all day.

Adam closes his eyes for a moment. A little voice in the back of his mind says, _‘You’re the only one who drives the truck, Dad.’_ It’s not a helpful voice.

He hears, _“that fucking boy-”_ and that’s his cue. He’s out of his bed before his door bursts open. It’s always better to be an upright target than a target flat on its back. His dad wants to know why he’s standing around being useless when they’re out of food. Adam doesn’t have a good answer for that. But he tries. Just like always.

Adam tells his dad that he’ll bike into town and get whatever his dad wants for breakfast. His dad says that food costs money, stupid. He tells his dad that he has some money from last week when he helped Mrs. Jones with her yard work. His dad is mad that Adam’s been hiding money from him again. He makes sure Adam knows not to hide money. His face is stinging and he lives here too and he’s not special. He needs to earn his keep just like anybody else. Adam agrees. His dad says it’ll take too damn long for him to bike into town. Adam promises to go fast. 

_Better take less than an hour._

_Yes, sir._

His dad wants to know what he’s going to do about his truck. Adam doesn’t say, _‘I’m ten. I’m not old enough for your truck to be my fault.’_ Except everything is his fault when his dad’s in a mood. His dad gives him a shove. He wants to know about his fucking truck. Adam promises to fix it after he gets back with the food. He can bike into town again to get gas while his dad is eating. His dad stares at him and Adam stares at the floor. His dad grunts and walks out. Adam empties his backpack real quick so he can use it to carry everything home. He dives under his bed to get some cash and then runs out the door while his dad settles down in front of the TV.

It takes him 18 minutes to bike to the grocery store, 16 minutes to get his shopping done, and 23 minutes to bike back, glancing at his watch continuously and praying that his backpack won’t give out on him. He brings it in and Alice gets to work. His dad wants to know why he didn’t pick up any bacon. Adam doesn’t have a good answer for that. He tries apologizing. His dad tells him to get to work on the truck, he needs to go into town tonight.

Adam heads back outside, but not before swiping his dad’s keys. He’s got a stitch in his side and he really doesn’t want to bike back into town. And the little voice in the back of his mind seems to think he should check his dad’s truck, just in case. Adam’s too tired to ignore it.

He hops in the front seat and turns the key. According to the dashboard, the truck has a full tank of gas. He turns the truck off and then back on. Checks the dashboard twice to make sure. He doesn’t know if his dad had just been playing games with him and his mom, or if he’d read it wrong because he’d been so mad. It’s whatever. Or it’s a miracle.

He can’t go back inside yet. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if he went in now and told his dad he was wrong. He needs to find something to do with himself for another hour. It’s July so it’s warm out, even this early in the morning. It’s too bad it’s July though, because at least if school was on he’d for sure get lunch. And he’d be out of the trailer. And then he stops short.

Because it’s not just July. It’s July 3rd. Maybe that’s why this morning’s gone okay so far: because he’s older and wiser than he was yesterday. Right. He thinks he’ll take this hour and his bike and go find a nice tree to nap under for a little while. A present to himself. Because he’s eleven now and his dad’s truck is not his problem thanks to whatever luck has made its gas tank fill up.

He’s got no reason to check the mail on his way out. It’s his mom who checks it, while he’s dreaming under that nice tree. It’s his mom who shuffles through all the envelopes and comes across one addressed to Adam. It’s his mom who turns and walks back inside, who tells his dad that some fancy boarding school in Massachusetts has written to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments on the first chapter. They made my day. I wasn't sure anyone would be interested in reading this story, so thank you for letting me know that you are excited about it!
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains more than a little implied/referenced child abuse.

Adam’s alarm goes off two hours later.

It’s the same quiet beeping that wakes him up for school everyday and later reminds him when to get on his bike so he won’t be tardy.

His watch is his prized possession, the first thing he bought for himself. Three hands that tick steadily and two alarm functions, both with adjustable volume. It doesn’t even look noticeably cheap - not like the rest of his clothes. He’s only had it for a couple years, but it really helps him avoid trouble. And when he’s in trouble, it helps to know that time is passing. Also, it’s basically indestructible. One time, he thought it was done for. He thought it had cracked under the heel of his dad’s boot. It took him forever to fall asleep, worrying about it, but knowing better than to turn his light back on and check it out. He’d been worked up over nothing though, because when he woke up the next morning, his watch was as fine as it’d always been.

It’s a little after nine, and there’s sunlight streaming down through the trees. He stares up at the maze of branches and leaves and tries to convince himself that, in just one more minute, he’ll head back. He doesn’t want to be missed. But it’s so nice under this tree. Not unbearably hot yet, and beyond the leaves he sees a bright blue sky. The birds are out singing. The grass under his head is soft. It’s everything summer should be.

He gives himself another minute. Another minute. Another minute. And then he bikes home.

He’s been doing a lot of biking this morning, and he’s feeling it now. He’s been hungrier before, gone longer without food, but it’s always harder to remember that when his stomach is empty. He quietly steps inside and places his dad’s keys back on the small table by the door. He doesn’t think they’ve been missed. His dad’s not on the couch watching TV, and there’s no sound of snoring. Probably, he’s not inside. He listens for his mom and hears her in the kitchen.

He’s not allowed in the kitchen without permission. Usually he’s allowed during family meals, unless Adam’s been mouthy or ungrateful or bad in general. Unless his parents forget to tell him to come in from the carport because dinner is ready. Or forget that he’s in his room. Partially his fault, because he chooses to keep so quiet. Sometimes, he’s allowed to go in and fetch things for his parents. Snacks. Drinks. Tools. Sometimes, he’s in the kitchen to help his mom unload groceries or help his dad fix the sink again. Or the fridge. Or the table. The kitchen is his least favorite part of the trailer anyway. Too much he can only look at. Too much he wants but can’t have. Too many things his dad can throw. Too many things for Adam to fall into. Only one window, over the sink. Too time-consuming to make it worth trying to get out of. He'd be caught, easy. Knives. That’s only happened once, but it made an impression. His dad had been way past drunk. On the beer that is also kept in the kitchen.

He stops in the doorway. It looks like his mom is making lunch. There are three plates out on the counter. That’s good. He says hello to his mom, and is there anything he can do to help out? She doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t pause in chopping carrots.

“Your dad’s out back, Adam. He wants to talk to you.”

And that is not good. That is so, so far from being good. Talks with his dad don’t involve learning about cars or completing jobs for him. Talks with his dad aren’t negotiable. He usually can’t think his way out. Because his dad won’t just be lashing out, he’ll have some big purpose. Talks with his dad are about Adam learning how to be a man. It means his dad has found Adam lacking in some way and wants him to fix it.

He’d done well this morning, keeping his dad happy. But he’d known what had been bothering his dad. It’d practically been spelled it out for Adam. Now he’s walking in unprepared. He can feel his breathing start to speed up. He can’t do this right now. He’s not alone in his room. His mom will hear and she’ll tell his dad he made a scene. He sucks in a breath and holds it. Let’s it out as slow as he can. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He turns back to the main room and, as soon as he’s out of view of his mom, he allows himself a small, desperate moment. He wraps his arms around himself and digs his fingers into his sides. He holds himself together and wishes to be anywhere else. He swears he almost feels the trailer shift around him, almost feels himself back under that tree. Feels the breeze on his face and the grass around his ankles. But the clanking in the kitchen brings him back. He’s being weak, but he’s absolutely silent about it so hopefully it cancels out. He heads outside.

He wills himself to think. 

It could be that he was later than expected. Or it could be that his dad had wanted him to help him in the carport before going into town, and that had been implied at some point. His dad is raising Adam to be a hard worker and considerate of other people’s time. Worst case would probably be if he noticed his keys had been missing. Or that there is still more money hiding under his bed. Not a lot, but that won’t matter. His dad is raising Adam to be honorable.

His dad is bent under the hood of a car when Adam reaches him. The carport is his least favorite place outside of the trailer. Uncomfortably hot to work in. Usually contains his dad. Full of tools that are solid and heavy and close at hand. Dotted with calendars of women that make him uncomfortable. His dad’s noticed that Adam avoids looking at them. Points it out sometimes, when he’s low on material. Tells Adam that real men know how to appreciate a woman’s body. Adam agrees, but he still doesn’t look at them.

“Hi, Dad.”

His dad straightens up and levels his gaze on Adam. He doesn’t immediately put the torque wrench down. It’s hard not to keep his eyes on it, but he looks up in the general direction of his father’s face. He likes Adam to look at him during their talks. He wants to know Adam is paying attention.

“You want to tell me what came in the mail for you today?”

And that’s so far out of left field, Adam can’t even begin to answer. He’s got nothing to do with the mail. He’s never even touched it, unless he’s been instructed to bring it in. And nothing is ever for him. Nothing. Sometimes it’s _about_ him. Like when the school writes home about his grades, or the fights he tells them he gets in. Last year, he got an attendance letter warning him against missing anymore school. That led to the suspicious teacher-looks and the questions about his bruises and the additional letters home telling his parents about the trouble he says he’s been getting into. If he thinks getting into fights is so cool, surely he wouldn’t mind his parents knowing. It’s a bad cycle. But still, even those letters weren’t addressed to him.

A torn envelope is thrown at him. He stoops down to pick it up. It’s got grease on it now. Of course they already opened it.

“Go on, read it. And speak up. Show off that goddamn education.”

_Dear Mr. Parrish,_

_We congratulate you on your acceptance to Ilvermorny School for Talented Learners. Ilvermorny is a leading educator for students with your unique aptitude, and we pride ourselves in providing a dedicated learning environment with world-class faculty. We assure you that with the quality of education that Ilvermorny provides, you will be well-prepared for a vast array of suitable careers._

_As you are the first in your family to be accepted, a representative will visit you on July 5 to give you and your family further clarification and information, and to answer any questions that you may have._

_We wish you all the best._

_Yours truly,  
Serena Willoughby  
Director of Admissions  
Dean of Students_

There’s confusion. And somewhere deep down, there’s a little spark of anger; this is such a stupid reason to get in trouble with his dad. He doesn’t even know what’s going on. He can’t begin to explain how he’s been accepted to a school he didn’t know existed. He considers saying as much to his dad, but he might consider it back-talk.

“Your lies are catching up with you now. You been sneaking around behind our backs? Applying to schools so you can get out of your responsibility here?”

He doesn’t know what to say to calm him down. He doesn’t know if his dad wants him to speak right now. His dad thinks Adam is ignoring him. He throws the wrench down and it skids along the concrete. He watches Adam flinch at the noise and his eyes narrow. He takes a few, slow steps towards Adam.

Adam tries telling his dad that there must be a mistake. Tries to convince his dad that he’s been _honorable_ , even though he knows, deep down, that he was born a liar. But he isn’t lying this time. He wills his dad to believe him. But his dad thinks Adam is full of shit. He stalks closer.

“You always have put school before what’s best for this family. Claiming you have homework to do instead of getting to work around here.” 

Adam wants to point out that his dad never finished high school, so he couldn’t possibly understand what school means to Adam. He wants to tell his dad what his teachers told him. _School is a way up and a way out._ That if Adam works hard and learns what they teach him and stops missing school, he can grow up to be anything he wants. He can go to college and make more money than his dad has ever seen in his life. And money means he’d have a house with real walls and food in his kitchen and - 

Adam bites his lip. Holds back his words. His dad is in his face now and he can feel his breath on his skin. He smells sober.

“You think we can afford to send you to some rich school out-of-state? You think I don’t know what this means?”

Adam’s dad knows what it means. It means Adam thinks he’s better than them. It means Adam thinks he’s real fucking special. It means he’s unappreciative. It means Adam’s too good for the roof his parents put over his head and the food they put on the table.

“I would appreciate the food I put on the table,” Adam let’s out, because he actually hasn’t had any of it today. And that just means he’s dumb.

Adam’s dad is raising him to be respectful. It takes him a long time to remind Adam of his place in this family. Long enough that Adam gives up trying to be a man about it and just tries to protect his face. And after that, his dad makes it very clear what he thinks of this school that’s writing to Adam and Adam’s story that he’s never heard of it. Adam was born a liar, but his dad is teaching him right. He watches the minutes tick by, when he can. And then he chokes out a _thank you_ and a _yes, sir_ when his dad calls for it. Because his dad is raising him to be grateful. And isn’t he lucky to have a dad who gives a shit about how he turns out?

When it’s over, he’s curled on the floor of the carport, trying not to move. It hurts to breathe. He’s not sure if he should swallow the blood in his mouth, but if he spits it out on the concrete he’ll have to clean it up. He feels guilt crawling up his stomach, even though he knows, _he knows_ , he didn’t write that school. Sometimes it’s hard to remember the truth when it disagrees with his dad. He can be persuasive. And anyway, Adam knows better than to talk back. He’s supposed to be smart. Or talented, apparently.

His dad has passed judgement, and given a sentence as well. Adam has two days before the school’s representative shows up on their doorstep. Two days to convince someone he doesn’t know, from a school he’s never even heard of, to stay well away from here. Somehow, he’s got to contact them and let them know he has no interest in their school. He’s got to let them know there’s been a mistake. But a small, trampled down part of him suggests that maybe he doesn’t want to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam tries to research an elusive school that he definitely isn't interested in at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess who forgot they were doing Camp NaNoWriMo this month and remembered today. Yikes.

He misses lunch because he’s whining on the floor of the carport. He’s still being silent about it, but he’s too tired to stop the thoughts running through his head. That everything hurts and it won’t ever get better. That he deserved what he got. That his dad maybe shouldn’t be so rough with him. That he’s as weak as his dad says. That maybe he should check this school out. That it’s pointless because he’d never be able to go anyway. But maybe -

The front door slams again. It’s his dad and Adam should have moved by now, should be getting on with his chores and his responsibilities. Should be showing his dad that he’s learned his lesson, that he knows how to be respectful now. That he doesn’t need any more reminders. That he deserves to have some dinner tonight. He pushes himself to his feet and takes a moment to find his balance. His head always feels a little stuffy after his face has been hit. He hears the truck door shut and the engine start. Adam’s shoulders relax a bit. He’s been forgotten. He spits blood into the dirt and listens to his dad drive away.

He’s not desperate enough to try stealing food yet, but he’s getting there. He could try biking back into town, but food costs money, stupid. He doesn’t have a lot to spare. He needs to save it for a real emergency. And he might run into his dad. Or the shop owner might take note that he’s been there twice in one day. Might think it’s amusing. Might mention it to his dad. Might get him in trouble without meaning to. It kind of depends on whether or not his dad told his mom that he’s not allowed dinner before he left. And whether he deserves it or not, he doesn’t want to get into any more trouble today.

He shouldn’t have said anything to his dad about the food. Now his dad knows Adam wants it. He probably hadn’t even noticed that Adam didn’t have breakfast. That kind of thinking was more his mom’s thing. But now his dad’s offended and angry and knows how to get to him. And it’s mostly because of this school he’s never heard of. 

Right. He needs to get this taken care of.

He leans against the car and wraps his arms around his stomach. Tells himself that it’ll make him feel full so he can concentrate. He needs to run through his options so he can figure out what to do. 

First, he needs to get his chores done, because if his dad comes back and finds them incomplete, it will be very bad. Second, he can check in with his mom to see if she says anything about dinner. Best case, he gets dinner (obviously). Worst case, he’ll have to suck it up a little and wait it out. He gives himself permission to dip into his savings tomorrow at lunchtime, if there’s still no food to be had. Third, he needs to find out what he can about this school. _Ilvermorny_. He needs to figure out why they’re writing to him and how to contact them back. Dinner is sometimes around 5:00 and sometimes closer to 6:00. Either way, it should give him some time afterward to go to the library in town and do some research. The library doesn’t close until 8:00. If he’s going to make any decisions about this school, he wants to at least be informed. They probably have a website with information for new students. He wants to be clear on what he’s being offered, even if he probably can’t take it - even if he _definitely_ can’t take it.

Staying out until 8:00 is a bit of a risk. There’s always a chance that his dad could decide that 8:00 is too late to be out today. His dad said he needed to be in town tonight, though. That means he’s probably at a bar with his friends, playing cards or pool or whatever. The only time he’s known his dad to cut his drinking short is when Adam himself had been along. Even then, when his dad brought him along to teach him cards and pool and whatever, they’d been out well past midnight unless Adam had done something wrong and caused them to leave early. Anyway, chances are good that he’ll beat his dad home tonight even if he stays at the library until closing. Adam can live with those odds.

He works through his chores in the carport - tidying things up, wiping things down, and sweeping. He’s not currently allowed to work on the cars without his dad standing over his shoulder. His dad says he can’t trust Adam not to screw it up. He says Adam’s a slow fucking learner, but maybe someday he’ll grow into someone useful. Then, he works through his chores in the yellow-brown grass his dad calls the yard - pulling weeds like it makes any difference at all. He has to stop to catch his breath more and more frequently, because the pulling motion is not great for his ribs right now. By the time he finishes, it’s hot enough outside that it’s almost a relief to head inside and clean the bathroom. He passes his mom, who is lying on the sofa with a magazine full of celebrity gossip. He scrubs the chipped sink and the counter and the toilet and the shower. He scrubs the marked, yellow mirror, which becomes less marked but remains yellow. Once he’s finished, he makes his way to his bedroom and reads until he hears his mom moving around in the kitchen. 

He hides his book and heads out to the kitchen, where he hovers in the doorway. His mom’s posture shifts when she notices him. But she doesn’t turn to talk to him. She doesn’t tell him to leave either. He gets the feeling she’s just messing with him, but it’s also possible that she doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to say to her either, so he’s stuck waiting, not allowed to enter but unwilling to walk away.

“Your dad says you’re being ungrateful. You can take the trash out,” is what she lands on. It’s then that she turns to look at him, to watch this news sink in. Adam doesn’t let his face fall. He doesn’t let his disappointment show. If he does, his mom can use it against him. She’ll know how hungry he is. She’ll tell his dad he was dramatic or soft or _bad_. 

He takes the trash out.

He tells himself that he knew this was going to happen anyway. He tells himself that this will give him more time at the library to do some research. He gets on his bike and leaves the trailer behind.

When he enters the library, the librarian at the front desk isn’t one he recognizes. His parents don’t exactly approve of the library, so he doesn’t spend too much time here. But he spends enough time that some of the librarians recognize him. Two or three of them say hello to him and recommend books to him that they think he will enjoy. They know he reads a lot. Some are not so happy to see him, because he sometimes is unable to return the books he borrows. He understands that, knows he needs to be careful with borrowed books, tries to be. But their disapproval still stings a little, makes him want to do better.

This librarian’s eyes narrow as she takes in his appearance. He washed his hands after finishing his chores and changed his shirt, but his shorts still show signs of him having crawled around in the grass. He made sure that there wasn’t any blood on his face either, or in his teeth. But the librarian still seems to find him lacking. She asks him what happened to his face.

“Just a bit of roughhousing with my friends, ma’am. Our game of football got a little out of hand.” He tries to sound rueful, so she can tell he knows it’s not something to be proud of.

The librarian is not impressed.

“Roughhousing’s not allowed in here. We expect patrons to behave appropriately.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adam blushes. “I only want to use a computer, please.” The librarian’s eyes don’t get any less narrow, but she waves him on in the general direction of the computer area.

Finding out more about Ilvermorny proves to be more difficult than a simple Google search. They do indeed have a website, but it gives him very little new information. The school’s location is given vaguely as ‘Massachusetts’. It’s not the biggest state, but it’s not a town either. One would think they’d narrow it down a little more, or include an address of some sort. There seem to be pictures of the campus - a beautiful grass area and a sprawling garden - but none of the school itself. There's a shimmering lake set against a backdrop of towering mountains. In fact, the whole campus looks to be surrounded by mountains, as they’re in the backdrop of every shot.

He looks up a map of Massachusetts and narrows down the location to the western half of the state, which is where the mountain ranges are labeled. He’s guessing very west, because that’s where the higher mountains are, and the mountains in the pictures look tall. That’s not an address though. He decides to move on.

Ilvermorny advertises itself as a school for talented learners, which he knew from the letter. But it doesn’t elaborate on what they’re supposed to be talented in. It could be a STEM school, or it could even be a school for something more focused, like foreign languages or cooking. The website doesn’t say. Surely if they specialized in anything specific, they would advertise it. He decides to assume it’s some sort of all-around college prep school for rich kids, and work from there. There’s a school like that in Henrietta called Aglionby Academy. They definitely haven’t been sending Adam any letters.

According to the website, Ilvermorny teaches students aged eleven to seventeen. That means the students graduate a year earlier than normal. The school must have an accelerated curriculum then, if students leave early. He likes the idea of graduating high school a year early. He’d get to leave the trailer sooner. And he likes the idea of being at a school several states away. At least then, if his teachers write home to his parents about him ‘showing off in class’ as his dad puts it, Adam won’t have to be around while they read the letters. And his attendance would be better if he lived at the school.

What really catches his attention is the reviews from previous students. They talk about the school like it was the best time of their life. They talk about being challenged and learning tons. They say the teachers are masters of the subjects they teach (no elaboration) and always make time to get to know students and help them with the material. And they talk about the friends they made at Ilvermorny - friends they still love and admire ten, twenty, fifty years after graduating. They say the alumni have built quite the network. Students have gone on to play sports professionally (no elaboration) or work in law enforcement. They have a high percentage of students who go into government work and politics, and a similarly high percentage of students go on to work in medicine. It seems like the students have a lot of options.

He finds reviews of Ilvermorny on just a couple other websites. None of the reviews get into specifics about the school either, but they do gush over how well prepared the students are upon leaving and go on about how competitive the school apparently is. Competitive in what, he still doesn’t know. The reviews say the sports teams are really good, but they don’t include any sports by name. Adam guesses that when you’re rich, you can be good at a lot of sports.

And then it’s near 8:00 and the librarian is shooing him away from the computer so she can finish locking up. Two hours, and he found basically nothing concrete on this school. He definitely didn’t find any contact information. It’s difficult not to be frustrated, but he likes to have a handle on his emotions. They can’t be used against him if he simply doesn’t feel anything. And his dad is a prime example of what happens when people like Adam let themselves feel. He might have to respect his dad, but he doesn’t have to want to be him. 

It’s difficult though. He feels like tearing the letter in half. He feels like throwing it away as he leaves the library. It all feels a bit pointless. He keeps himself in check, starts his bike ride back to the trailer in the dying summer light. He tells himself that he couldn’t research properly because he’s tired. Or because he’s hungry. Or because he’s sore. He can try again tomorrow. He’s got one more day left.

Back at the trailer, his dad is still out, truck missing from the side of the trailer as Adam puts his bike away. The moment he walks inside, his mother is looking up from her place on the sofa, telling him off over the sound of a commercial. She says she’s not sure Adam’s been pulling his weight around here, not when he’s staying out all hours of the night. She wants to know where Adam’s been keeping himself, since he didn’t ask for permission. She scoffs when he says he was at the library. The library is for rich people and queers, and she knows Adam isn’t rich. She says his dad won’t be happy when he hears Adam’s been breaking curfew. _So don’t tell him that_ , Adam doesn’t say.

“When’s my curfew, ma’am?” Adam does say. Because usually, it’s ‘Be home for dinner or you won’t eat,' but he wasn’t getting dinner today anyway. And sometimes it’s ‘You come straight home from school, I’ve got shit for you to do,' but it’s summer and he finished his chores. Sometimes it’s eight, nine, ten at night, and Adam’s sent into town to ‘get some goddamn beer’ from a man who’s good friends with his dad, who will sell to him even though he’s ten years too young and tell his dad if Adam’s been any trouble. A handful of times, the rule was ‘I don’t want to see you in my fucking house tonight’ and Adam had to clear off and climb in his window later.

He knows it’s a stupid thing to say, but he’s not sure he cares. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend there’s a set rule for this when there’s not. _He knows_ there’s not. He’s tired and hungry and annoyed at not finding out enough about this school that he’s definitely not considering trying to attend. And annoyed because, from what he did find, the school seems like Aglionby, but an Aglionby that’s somehow chosen _him_. And yeah, maybe it's a scam, but maybe it's real. He’s annoyed because his choices now are to hide from this school and try to forget it exists, or let himself hope for it and risk his parents’ response. And try as he might to stomp his emotions down into non-existence, his mom always seems to know they’re there. She has a way of needling them and pulling them into the light until they’re bigger than they were in the first place. More often than not, conversations with his mom lead to Adam getting himself in trouble.

Adam’s mom wants to know if he’s trying to be funny or if he’s being a smartass. Adam doesn’t have a good answer for that and he doesn’t even try. His mom’s not as explosive as his dad. She usually only hits him if he's nearby. And sometimes she forgets to pass things on to his dad, or decides to hold off for a bit until something big comes along. There’s a tense pause, in which Adam’s mom stares at him and Adam stares somewhere past her left shoulder. Then, her show comes back on and she tells Adam he needs to do the dishes before going to bed.

“Dishwasher’s busted again,” she says to the TV screen, and Adam understands himself to be dismissed.

He washes the dishes for a meal he didn’t eat. He ignores the temptation to steal something. They’re low on food right now, so there’s a higher-than-normal chance of it being noticed. And probably, he’ll get to eat tomorrow anyway. These things don’t usually last more than a day or so. Not unless he’s really messed up. His dad will probably be hungover - probably won’t be in a thinking mood, probably won’t remember what Adam said about the food. At least not right away.

After the dishes, he heads to the tiny bathroom to wash the day off of his face and brush his teeth, careful not to be too rough on his bruises. Then he heads to his room and flicks the light on, except nothing happens. His first thought is instinctively that his parents missed a power bill. But that’s stupid because the rest of the trailer has power. His next thought is that his lightbulb went out, but when he looks up, the light filtering in from the hallway shows him that it’s actually due to his lightbulb just not being in his ceiling anymore.

His eyebrows furrow as he turns back to the main room. His mom is watching him from the couch, even though her show is on behind her. As if he’s somehow more interesting. He gets the impression that this is why she let his earlier backtalk go. She was waiting for this.

“Porch light went out. Maybe you should head into town tomorrow and get a new bulb.”

Adam nods. He doesn’t talk back or give her a chance to pull out his emotions. He doesn’t slam his door. He doesn’t yell or pull out his hair in frustration. Adam slips into his room and quietly shuts out his mom. He changes out of his dirty clothes. He makes his way over to his bed and pulls his book out from under his mattress. He lies down on his stomach, props himself up on his elbows in a way that doesn’t make his ribs scream, and starts to read by the light of his watch. He feels a peacefulness that he hasn’t felt all day, not even when he was relaxing under that tree. Because at the end of that moment, there was a return to the trailer. At the end of this moment, there might just be a way out. He’s maybe never felt this sure in his whole life. He’s tired of being messed with. He’s tired of apologizing for existing. He knows what he wants now and he’s finally willing to make a move. Alone in his room, Adam makes his choice.

He doesn’t need to know where he’s going. He just knows he’s tired of being here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Adam gets his Hagrid moment!
> 
> Thanks for reading my story <3
> 
> Let me know what you think will happen when he gets to Ilvermorny, because like, your guess is as good as mine at this point.


End file.
